


Pirates of New York

by BloodiedRose



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:18:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodiedRose/pseuds/BloodiedRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joanna Reece's brief career in piracy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pirates of New York

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat inspired by a short piece ArgylepirateWD wrote a while back with pirate Reece kicking all kinds of butt. And also me kind of missing my trumpet.

Joanna Reece was five years old when she walked into the kitchen and declared that she was going to become a pirate.

Her parents had been rather skeptical of the endeavour. At five years old, Joanna’s coordination consisted mostly on an entanglement of flailing limbs. When Uncle Roscoe tried to appease her with a small plastic sword, they had both ended up with a mass of bruises and a plastic sword with a broken off handle.

Grandma had found it all rather amusing. Afterall, Joanna was one of the few members of the family who did not try to pinch a cookie before dinner. She would pinch a cookie, sure- a five year old with a sweet tooth and a cookie jar on a high counter was just asking for trouble. But she would at least warn her Grandma first, a few hours in advance, before climbing up onto the kitchen bench and sneaking a small hand into the container. But never just before dinner.

It became a game, seeing who could be bested by their little pirate in the most exaggerated manner. Uncle Roscoe practised on his trumpet as Joanna watched, swinging her legs to the rhythm until he reached the high notes with a wealth of quatrains. Then, she jumped down from her perch atop the piano stool and snuck his valve oil into her pocket. Dear Uncle Roscoe was given poke on his puffed out cheek as a thank you note, with a sweet reminder that “that’s not how you s’posed to play” as his niece ran from the room. 

Aunt Vivian was even worse, teaming up with Joanna at family dinners so that they could sneak as much from the distracted family members as possible. Thanksgiving ended with a treasure hunt, with clues in crayon towards the loot of stolen ‘gold’. Family members scrounging through the house in search of their misplaced belongings as Grandma fed a giggling Joanna and Vivian one extra piece of pie. 

On her sixth birthday, Joanna’s siblings helped make her a makeshift eyepatch with a shoelace and a sock. Her parents gave her a small plastic sword after she swore not to break it this time, and then instantly regretted it when Grandpa decided to challenge her to a swordfight with his walking cane as his weapon. 

There was a silent agreement in the Reece family that they were merely indulging the fantasies of a child. It was in every child’s nature to want adventure and excitement in their life, and for them to have their hearts set on one career path before switching to another a few hours, days, or months later. 

No one dared even whisper about Joanna’s cousin Tony’s arrest record. Two counts of burglary, one count of breaking and entering. Joanna was just playing pretend, everyone always got their misplaced items back within a few hours. Misplaced. Not stolen. Just a little girl and a game of make believe. 

It all changed when Uncle Roscoe was killed. A mugging, the adults said. He was on the way home from a jazz club, whistling a tune with exhausted lips and his trumpet case gripped tightly in his hand. Only had a twenty in his wallet and was shot when he couldn’t give up any more.

Joanna didn’t understand much of muggings. She had heard the adults and older kids talking about them, to not go down certain streets or else you would get robbed. Pirates would come out of the shadows and take away everything you had, except these pirates wouldn’t have swords and hats and funny accents. Instead they would have guns and they would shout and they would kill Uncle Roscoe.

Captain Roscoe, famed throughout the seven seas of his skill with the enchanted golden trumpet, had been killed by pirates. It had been a long sea battle, in which Captain Roscoe was severely outnumbered. And yet he continued to fight with his trusty trumpet by his side. He continued to fight, even when his face turned red and his cheeks were puffed out until they were twice the size of the rest of his head. 

Joanna didn’t want to be a pirate anymore.

Two men in blue had come around to tell Joanna’s family about Uncle Roscoe’s death. Her Grandpa had called them pigs but they didn’t look all that much like pigs to Joanna. Sure, the balding white man with his red cheeks and portly belly could be considered vaguely pig like. The man beside him however looked like the men that Aunt Vivian would get distracted talking to when she took Joanna to the corner store. 

The pig man wasn’t very nice. He had made her mama cry and then did nothing. The other man had offered her a hand on the shoulder, and treated her grandma with the utmost respect, as anyone would if they had ever met the woman. He had even given Joanna a hard candy and a small smile.

Which was why when she saw him in the street some weeks later, Joanna had deemed the man worthy of one of the sweets she had been given as treat by her grandpa. He had taken it and smiled as he ate it, even though it was one of Joanna’s least favourite flavors (she liked the man enough to give him a sweet. She liked no man enough to give him one of her favourite sweets). 

“I help protect good people from the bad ones,” he had said when he asked her how he had known about her Uncle Roscoe. 

“From pirates?” She asked, and he chuckled. She didn’t understand what was so funny, pirates were dangerous. 

“Pirates and others. I can’t save everyone, but I can try.”

“Are you a superhero?” Joanna asked, trying to picture the man in blue tights and red underwear like she had seen in her brother’s comic books. 

“No, I’m a police officer.”

“If I become a-” she tried to form the word in her mouth. “Pleece officer, can I protect people from pirates?”

He smiled again, teeth with a slight yellow tinge but still bright to Joanna. He nodded. A police officer could protect people from the dreaded pirates of New York. A police officer could stop people from being hurt like Uncle Roscoe. 

Joanna Reece was six years old when she walked into the kitchen and declared that she was going to become a police officer. 

Twenty years later, she had walked into her new precinct with a badge on her hip. The same man had greeted her, police captain now. And he had managed to keep it to mild good natured ribbing when, on her second year of the force, Joanna had dragged in bank robbers who had dressed themselves up as pirates.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that this is so short, and kind of rushed. I'm just glad I managed to get it done, considering it's midterms and I managed to get sick because life. But Joanna Reece deserves all the love, and I couldn't bail on my first ficathon now could I. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you so desire.


End file.
